Types of Love
by BitterEloquence
Summary: G1: There are many types of love. The love of a brother, of friends and of a lover. Some are fulfilling, some bittersweet but all are essential in this crazy thing we call living. Because without love, what would be the point?
1. Love of a Brother

Warnings: Some violence but nothing too graphic in this chapter.

Notes: Thanks to my tireless beta yankeesailor for taking time out of her busy schedule to beta this monster. Everyone send her some love because without her, this fic would suck. XP

Additional Notes: This was written for the April challenge on prowlxjazz community on LJ

Disclaimer: Not mine, nor am I making any money off of it. The only thing I own are the twisted ideas floating around in my head.

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_There's no other love like the love for a brother. There's no other love like the love from a brother._

--Astrid Alauda

Jazz was the first one to notice and he'd thought it to be amusing and cute at first. What harm was there in a little crush? Sure, it was _his_ lover who was being hopelessly followed around and made googly-optics at but he didn't mind. Honestly, it wasn't like one hopelessly smitten mech had a chance with Prowl so Jazz just leaned back and tried not to smirk as Bluestreak continued to hang on Prowl's every last word.

If nothing else, it was an amusing diversion.

Unfortunately for Bluestreak, the object of his affection was completely oblivious. When Bluestreak had come to the Autobots, Prowl had taken the gunner under his proverbial wing. The fact that Bluestreak was the sole survivor of the attack on Praxus, his home city, had probably spurred the tactician into action at first. But it was the continually-hopeful young mech's optimism that had forged an unlikely friendship between them.

Sure, Prowl could try and fool his logic processors and say he was merely trying to help Bluestreak overcome his tendency to freeze up in battle, but that didn't change the fact that the tactician was always patient and even understanding with the younger mech.

"-and then they didn't believe me when I told them I knew how to play holo-tag. But I mean, that's where I learned how to shoot in the first place so of course I had to show him and he _still_ didn't believe me, can you believe that?" Bluestreak babbled on as Prowl listened with half an audio. The grey mech didn't seem to mind; he was used to Prowl's often preoccupied airs and so long as the tactician didn't snap at him or tell him to shut up, the young gunner was content to ramble on for breems at a time. "I mean, you remember the holo-tag galleries they had back in Praxus? I mean those were a lot of fun and I ended up spending a lot of my off-hours there until I got so good they actually offered me a spot on a team." Talking about Praxus was still painful for the duo though it was coming easier and easier with each passing day,

Prowl still tensed slightly at the mention of their home city and he raised preoccupied, dark optics to look at Bluestreak for a moment. "I didn't know you were on a holo-tag team." That little bit of acknowledgement was all the gunner needed as encouragement and a wide smile broke out on his faceplates.

"I didn't tell you?" Bluestreak all but gushed. "It was great, probably the best time of my life because it was the first time I was ever really popular and I had lots of friends and… and…" He trailed off when he found himself pinned by a sharp stare from Prowl.

"And?" Prowl drawled.

Flustered now, Bluestreak found himself stumbling over his own words for a moment. "I err… that's it?" Smiling hopefully, the younger mech rubbed the back of his head and shrugged helplessly.

Shaking his head, Prowl just granted Bluestreak a wry look before going back to his reports. The nervous gunner was going to say something else when the internal alarms went off in their heads. Red Alert had signaled an incoming attack that sent the Autobots scrambling to their battle stations.

"Can't the fragging 'cons give it a rest?" Bluestreak groaned as he followed Prowl out the door.

"Apparently not." Prowl murmured. The tactician refrained from pointing out how tired he was of these long, drawn-out defensive battles. With their inferior numbers, these long battles were just devastating for the Autobots. The fact that Megatron showed little regard for the safety of his troops as he threw them heedlessly in wave after wave at the Autobots did not help matters either.

The only thing they had going for them was that Iacon's high, strong walls made it all but impossible for the Decepticon ground troops to get a foothold on the front. Unfortunately, Megatron was fond of his Seekers and his various fliers who continually tried to break through the shielding overhead to rain down death and destruction from the skies.

As Prowl thought, the battle was long and grueling. Every now and then, a Decepticon volley would breech their shields and another part of their beloved city would go up in a ball of flames and the screams of the dying. Prowl tried to not let that get to him but it was hard to ignore the suffering around him. He tried to keep an optic on Bluestreak but it was almost impossible in the confusion of the battle. Thankfully, the young gunner had made an unlikely ally in the Twins. The two melee warriors had taken the gunner under their wing just like Prowl had and made sure Bluestreak made it back from each battle in one piece--for the most part.

The battle continued on through the day and long into the night without any signs of relenting. Two waves of warriors had taken their turns at the front by the time a tired Prowl broke away from his battleplans long enough to take in some energon and find a safe place to sit down for a breem. Prowl noted he wasn't the only mech taking refuge beneath the reinforced cover of the bomb shelter closest to the mobile command center.

"Prowl!" A tired and energon-smeared Bluestreak smiled weakly from his place on the ground. He had his own cube of energon and waved Prowl over to sit down beside him.

"Are you alright?" Understandably concerned by the coolant and energon streaked across the younger mech's armor, Prowl scrutinized the gunner critically for a moment. "Have you been to the medics?"

"Nah, most of it isn't mine." Bluestreak murmured, a haunted gleam in his optics. "The 'cons have got some new kind of cluster bomb that seems to be able to hone in on our heat signatures. They've been picking our snipers off the walls for a while now."

Prowl felt the energon in his lines run cold at mention of the new weaponry. "You need to be careful out there, Bluestreak," he cautioned gently.

The gunner smiled shyly and looked down at the rifle slung across his knees. "I am being careful, Prowl, I promise. They pulled us off the walls for now until Wheeljack and his crew can find some way of jamming the signals from those bombs."

The black and white nodded solemnly. He'd caught bits and pieces of that report over the comm lines and had planned accordingly. He and Bluestreak settled into a tired sort of companionable silence as they both nursed their energon.

Overhead, the distant screams of Seeker engines rent the night air and all the occupants of their shelter looked up at the ceiling overhead. A few astroclicks later, the resounding boom of bombs hitting the shielding cracked through the air. The barrage continued almost unabated for an entire breem as the anti-aircraft guns mounted on Iacon's walls fired repeatedly in hopes of disheartening the Decepticon fliers enough for them to break off the attack.

The various occupants of the shelter were silent and tense as the thunderous roar of the guns echoed in counterpoint to the rumble and tremors of the bombs hitting the shielding overhead. With each tremor, nervous glances shot upwards towards the ceiling as if they expected the shelter to cave in around them. Of course, considering that had happened many times in the past, their fears were not completely unfounded.

Prowl climbed to his feet and nervously paced close to the entrance of the shelter. The conflicting data he was getting over his comlink was not very reassuring. Wheeljack was arguing with Hoist and Grapple over the strength of the shields. The three mechs, usually civil and close friends, were arguing so fiercely that Prowl half expected things to come to blows before too long.

"Enough!" he snapped into the general com-channel. "Stop arguing and get us some straight answers. We need them now, because if those shields are going to buckle then we need to get out troops of the open immediately!" the tactician ordered sharply. He was gratified to hear nothing but silence between the three mechs before each one grudgingly agreed to back over their calculations again. "Prime, I think we should issue the order for everyone to get down to their respective shelters. There's no way we can get the entire army back to the base in time. I'd rather deal with bombed out buildings than lose half our army."

"Very well, start organizing it, Prowl," Optimus ordered solemnly.

"I'm on my way back to the command center now, sir."

"Prowl!" Bluestreak hissed and leapt to his feet. "You shouldn't go out there right now!"

"I have to get back to the command center, Bluestreak," Prowl reminded him with a frown. "Once the evacuation orders are under way I'll come back."

The gunner wore an uncharacteristically mutinous expression. "I'll come with you then."

"Bluestreak..." Prowl had that no-nonsense tone in his voice now.

"It's not like I can do anything hiding in here. At least out there I can do something." Bluestreak tried the logical approach, usually that worked well with Prowl. The black and white mech paused for a moment and Bluestreak knew he was running scenarios through his battle-computer. "I'll just sneak out after you if you try and leave me behind," the gunner finally stated flatly.

Prowl's optics flashed in muted annoyance before he shook his head. "Fine, I don't have time to write you up for insubordination anyway." It was as close to acquiescence as he was going to get and Bluestreak fell into step beside Prowl with a relieved grin.

"Thanks, Prowl."

"…don't mention it." And he meant it. The tactician and gunner started to make their way back up the block towards the command center, which was set-up in what had once been the offices of Iacon's trade commission. The Autobots had been using the building for the past few deca-cycles since one of the Decepticons' attacks had destroyed the old site. Thus far, the 'cons didn't seem to know where the Autobot's new mobile command center was, but Prowl had a feeling they might have finally figured out the location. If this sudden heavy bombing was any indication, Megatron might have figured out where the Autobots were hiding after all.

Over the next three breems, Prowl worked in conjunction with the other Autobot tacticians and command element to evacuate their troops to bomb shelters and reinforced buildings. The heavy artillery was controlled via remote connection and once the Autobots had found sufficient cover, Prowl ordered the 'bots in the command center to find their own squads at their assigned shelters. No more than two officers were assigned per shelter. It was a safety precaution in case the 'cons managed to take out a shelter or two. The Autobots would not be crippled or lose half their command element with one lucky bomb.

It was a good plan, but unfortunately it meant Prowl had to travel twice the distance to meet up with Jazz at their assigned shelter. There was a shelter closer to the Command Center but the tactician preferred to be close to his lover. The two mechs hurried through the debris-strewn streets and winced every time the blast of a bomb hitting the shielding overhead cracked through the air. "It's not going to be long now," Prowl radioed to Bluestreak. Even in the midst of battle, the tactician sounded cool and gathered.

Prowl's unflappable confidence helped boost Bluestreak's failing confidence and the gunner took some measure of comfort in his commander's strength. If Prowl could remain calm in the middle of this inferno, why couldn't he? Bluestreak didn't reply but he did speed up so that his bumper was mere inches from Prowl's. The tactician could have rebuked him for driving so dangerously close but Prowl's sensors detected the unsteady revving of Blue's engine and the ragged way he was drawing air in through his intakes.

He didn't like it when Bluestreak was quiet. When the normally loquacious gunner was quiet, it meant he was deeply troubled about something. Bluestreak being silent was never a good thing.

The gunner was flirting with the razor-edge of falling into a full-out panic attack and Prowl just didn't have the time to deal with his young friend's fears and neurosis at the moment. "Bluestreak?" He worried even more when it took Bluestreak almost two astro-clicks to focus his optics on him.

"Huh?" A puzzled look filled the grey mech's optics.

"Are you okay?"

Another spark-wrenchingly long pause. "I'm fine." The gunner said dully.

Prowl grimaced and shifted his rifle to one arm so he could touch the gunner's shoulder in a gentle grip. "It's going to be alright, Bluestreak. We're almost there." The tactician was not used to offering comfort or encouragement and found himself woefully unsure of what to do in this situation.

Bluestreak managed to dredge up a smile from somewhere and patted Prowl's hand briefly just as the whistle of more bombs falling filled the air. Both mechs tensed when the anti-aircraft guns started firing once more. They managed to hit some of the bombs and the bombers but a lot of those missiles struck home. "They're coming more often," Bluestreak muttered dully. "They're going to break through the shields this time."

Prowl cursed when he caught the glassy look in Bluestreak's optics. "Move it!" he snapped, hoping to shake the gunner out of his trance by pushing him forward. The grey mech stumbled forward on unsteady feet. Without Prowl's constant hand placed firmly between his door-wings, Bluestreak would have stumbled to a stop countless times.

"Just a little bit more, Bluestreak. You can do it, just keep moving." Prowl had taken up the strange part of being the garrulous one. It might have been his imagination, but the tactician thought Bluestreak seemed more alert whenever he kept up a constant stream of dialogue.

They were just clearing the rubble and were about to transform when the Decepticons managed to pierce through the shields. Wheeljack's vicious cursing over the still-open officer's channel was all the warning Prowl had before fire and debris rained down from overhead.

"Bluestreak, move it!" The black and white mech shoved his young friend towards what cover could be found beneath the ruins of another bombed-out building. A jagged shard of shrapnel buried itself into the back of Prowl's knee servo and he cried out as his right leg buckled beneath his weight and momentum. He tried to crawl forward to reach the cover of the building as shrapnel and debris continued to fall down from the ruined shields overhead.

Then, the world exploded in a white hot flash of pain and heat.


	2. Love of a Friend

Note: This story is completed but I leave for BotCon tomorrow and won't be at a computer until Monday so the next update is going to have to wait till then. Sorry, folks! See ya'll at BotCon!

_Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend. _  
-- Unknown

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Blinded and confused, Prowl felt a heavy weight fell across him, pinning his door-wings uncomfortably as a bright flash of light abruptly seared his optics enough to force them to reboot. For one agonizing moment, Prowl thought he was deactivating. But then heat seared his exposed leg and armor when yet another Decepticon missile broke through the rent in the shield and pain began to radiate through his battered body. Metal and pieces of the surrounding buildings crashed down around them and Prowl dimly heard a pained cry from Bluestreak but his own equilibrium servos and optic sensors were taking too long to reboot.

The inferno died as swiftly as it had rained down on them and Prowl's optic sensors finally rebooted enough for him to turn and get a good look at what was pinning him down. He jumped slightly when he realized he was nose to nose with Bluestreak. The grey mech's optics burned brightly as Prowl's still frazzled battle-computer put two and two together.

"You… alright?" Bluestreak breathed softly with a pained look.

"Bluestreak…" Shock and horror slowly crawled its way across Prowl's faceplates.

"Good." A dully sort of satisfaction glowed in the gunner's optics before a spasm ran through him. The grey mech was suddenly wheezing and gasping for air through his intakes as Prowl became aware of the sticky sensation of energon pooling all around them. Worse, Prowl knew most of it was not his own.

"Bluestreak!" Prowl ignored the way his leg screamed at him as he pulled himself out from beneath the other mech. While not the kind of 'bot who got squeamish on the battlefield, even Prowl felt his fuel-tanks churn sickeningly as he finally caught sight of the extent of Bluestreak's injuries. Exposed circuitry was melted everywhere and the unpleasant smell of boiling coolants and melted metal just made Prowl feel all the more sick. There wasn't much left of Bluestreak's door-wings. The interiors were completely burned out and the metal bent and melted beneath the extreme heat and rain of shrapnel.

"Prowl! Where are you?!" Jazz's sharp voice over the comms channel snapped the tactician out of his daze. The saboteur had heard the feedback through the communications channel and knew something was wrong immediately.

"I'm a block and a half from the shelter. Is Ratchet with you?" Prowl asked as he locked down all of his emotional programming. It was beginning to get in the way and he needed a clear mind to deal with Bluestreak's injuries.

"Are you hurt?" There was a slight hitch in Jazz's voice.

"Minimally, Bluestreak is…" Even with his emotional programming dulled, Prowl had to fight to get the words out. "Just send Ratchet now, Jazz."

"Right, on our way." Jazz didn't cut the connection and Prowl heard him call out for Ratchet to follow him. After a brief argument, the medic snarled and chased after the saboteur when he raced out of the safety of the shelter. The bombing was still going on all over Iacon but the anti-aircraft batteries were covering the break in the shields enough to stop the Decepticon Seekers from dropping any more bombs on their heads.

Prowl grimaced and did what he could to stop the major energon lines and coolant lines from bleeding out before Ratchet could arrive. Unfortunately for Prowl, the entirety of Bluestreak's back was one melted and torn mess where shrapnel and the blazing heat of the explosion had melted even reinforced Autobot armor. He had limited knowledge of field triage but this was far beyond his abilities. All Prowl could do was patch up Bluestreak's primary energon and coolant lines and made sure his spark still had the energy needed to function.

The gunner had stopped twitching and convulsing by then and was eerily still. "Primus. Of all the slagging times for you to be a fragging hero." No one was around to hear the tremor in Prowl's voice or the glint of genuine anger and fear in the tactician's optics when he buried his hands up to the forearms in Bluestreak's chassis in an attempt to stem the fluid loss.

By the time Ratchet arrived, both mechs were coated and smeared in the gunner's energon and coolant. "Primus, fraggit, Prowl, what the slag happened!?" the medic demanded as he shoved rubble and metal out of the way so he could kneel on the other side of the downed mech.

"Prowler!" Jazz crossed the remaining distance between him and his lover and grimaced when he saw the over-bright color of Prowl's optics. The saboteur had plenty of experience dealing with Prowl's way of repressing what he deemed to be 'unnecessary' programming in order to cope with whatever unexpected twist life tossed at him. Jazz also knew that 'unnecessary' programming included Prowl's emotional programming and his pain receptors. The saboteur doubted that Prowl even realized his right door-wing was dislocated or that his leg was sheared down to the chassis by shrapnel. He helped Prowl to his feet and grimaced when the tactician stoically put weight on his injured leg. Energon and coolant leaked in a steady stream down that wounded limb but Prowl didn't seem to notice. At least he could stand, albeit a bit unsteadily.

"We need to get out of here," Prowl murmured as he studied the cracked and broken shielding overhead.

"I can't move him!" Ratchet snarled without looking up from Bluestreak's mangled form. "He's not stable enough to move."

"And we can't risk staying out in the open any longer, Ratchet. Another bomb will wipe all of us out," Prowl growled back in a harsh tone of voice. "Get him back to the shelter and you can operate. Right now, just stabilize him enough to move."

"You cold-sparked son of a glitch that could kill him!"

"Just do it, Ratchet." Prowl ordered, his jaw set and grim.

"Prowl…" Jazz tried to distract his lover by touching him lightly on the shoulder.

"We need to move, Jazz. There is a sixty-seven percent chance a Seeker could find that hole in the shielding and sneak into Iacon. If he did that, we'd be easy targets to pick off., he said without taking his optics off of the rather large and tempting break in their defenses. Jazz fought down a grimace as the shriek of Seeker engines screamed overhead. The batteries were able to shoot two out of the three down but the third one was lining up to aim for the hole in their defenses.

"Ah, slag," Jazz muttered. Just when it looked like the seeker was in position to drop his bomb, one of the gunners manning the anti-aircraft battery managed to clip him and the jet crashed into the shield with a dazzling explosion. Elation shot through Jazz until he saw Prowl's intensely sober expression.

"Frag it. Ratchet! Get him out of here now!" Prowl snapped with more passion and anger then he'd shown so far.

Ratchet snarled wordlessly at the tactician and transformed. "You're so impatient, fine! If his spark deactivates because we moved him let _that _weigh on your conscience--if you have one! Jazz, help me with him."

Prowl moved to help as well but another wordless growl from Ratchet had him freezing. The saboteur was the only one still functional enough to move the injured gunner into the back of Ratchet's alt-mode and just as they got the gunner secure, there was the unmistakable sound of Seekers approaching once more.

"Slag! Doesn't he ever run out of those blasted things?!" Ratchet snarled to no one in particular. The medic had been in a foul enough mood just being trapped inside the bunker when he knew there were injured mechs out there that needed a medic's attentions. Now, with one of his favorite mechs possibly on the verge of deactivation and Prowl being a total slaghead, his mood had taken an even more surly turn.

"Megatron doesn't care how many he loses. Just so long as he can take out Iacon. The next wave is coming, get back to the shelter, Ratchet."

"Can ya transform?" Jazz moved over to Prowl once Ratchet was on his way back to the shelter.

"No." Prowl whispered.

"That's what I thought." The saboteur cycled a ragged breath of air through his intakes and knelt down to inspect the wound above Prowl's knee. His lover jerked back and had to hobble to retain his balance. The dislocated door-wing flopped weakly as Prowl grimaced minutely. "You're a slaggin' idiot, yanno that, Prowler?"

"So I've been told." He studied Jazz for a long moment. "I take it there's no chance of me convincing you to go back to the shelter without me?"

"Not a slaggin' chance."

"Fine, ignore the wound for now, we have to hurry up before the shield buckles again."

"Wha?"

"After that last hit, I seriously doubt the shields over our particular sector are going to be able to handle much more. If the 'cons so much as wash their _exhaust _across it, the shield will probably buckle."

Jazz's processor started to put the pieces together. Suddenly, Prowl's harsh, sparkless treatment of Ratchet and his instance that the medic move Bluestreak to the shelter made sense. "We need ta move now. Come on, Prowler." Jazz wrapped an arm around Prowl's waist and started to half pull, half cart the injured tactician towards the safety of their assigned bunker.

Prowl tried to keep up with Jazz's hurried pace but he just couldn't, and ended up dragging his wounded leg behind them as he hopped along beside Jazz. Each movement jostled his various wounds until pain screamed up and down his injured limbs with each stumbling step.

"Come on, Prowl. Jus' a lil bit more." Jazz coaxed his injured lover along the ruined pavement until the bunker finally came into sight. "It's right up there, we're almost there. We're gonna make it, Prowl."

As if to spite Jazz, at that very same instant, the unmistakable scream of jet engines overhead followed by a spattering of laser fire erupting around them had both mechs jumping in surprise. One of the Seekers had managed to bypass the batteries as Prowl had predicted and was now coming straight at them.

"Fraggit!" Jazz snarled and dragged Prowl behind what cover he could find. "Can't anything go right tonight?"

"Apparently not," Prowl ground out with a painful venting of air through his intakes. "Help me stand up, Jazz." The dislocated door-wing flopped over his shoulder at an erratic angle when Prowl fit two of his missiles into the launchers mounted on his shoulders.

Jazz helped prop the other mech up as Prowl accessed his battle-computer's guidance systems and took aim at their pursuer. The black and green seeker wasn't intimidated in the slightest and dove for the two mechs. For him, they were easy targets once he got a clean shot. It was the Decepticon's arrogance that kept him on a foolishly straight and narrow-minded dive right into Prowl's line of sight.

"Take the shot, Prowl." The saboteur sounded decidedly nervous when Prowl just stood there waiting until the last possible astroclick. Duel missiles launched simultaneously at the Seeker and the jet tried to peel away but the wire-guided missiles followed him. The impact was loud and bright when they struck the Seeker. Unfortunately, it was also painfully close and Jazz yanked Prowl into motion when fiery pieces of the Decepticon crashed down nearly on top of their heads.

"How's that?" Prowl even managed to crack a grim, pained smile as they hobbled away from the wreckage.

"Yer no longer allowed to yell at me for being foolish," Jazz grumbled with a wry look. "You almost made my pump stop when you didn't fire." It was a strange reversal in their roles when Jazz was the one chastising Prowl for taking unnecessary risks.

"Sorry, I didn't want to risk missing him. Those were my last two missiles," the tactician pointed out with a wry look.

"Surely ya haven't seen _that _much action, Prowler," he granted Prowl an incredulous look..

"No, I just haven't re-supplied in a while." Prowl almost wilted beneath Jazz's piercing look. "We've been short on munitions and like you said, I don't see action as much as other mechs so it made no sense for me to carry a full armament uselessly around for orns on end when a frontline soldier needs it more."

The saboteur just shook his head and dragged Prowl the last half block towards the shelter. "Jus' when I think I've got ya figured out ya go and pull somethin' like this"

Prowl just made a noncommittal noise and grimaced in pain when Jazz accidentally knocked his wounded leg into a piece of rubble.

"I'm not sayin' that's a bad thing, jus' unexpected is all! I thought I was s'posed ta be the sneaky one?"

"I learned from the master." Their banter was interrupted by the distant sounds of Seeker engines approaching.

"Frag, come on." Jazz doubled the pace until they'd reached the first set of blast doors. Once they'd entered the relative safety of the shelter, both mechs cycled a ragged breath through their vents. "How's the leg?"

"It's fine." Prowl's optics were just a tad dim and the unfocused look of them worried Jazz just a bit.

"Let's go see Ratchet."

"No, he's busy with Bluestreak. I can wait," Prowl insisted in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "I just want a place to sit down for a little bit." Internal alarms started to go off about that time, warning Prowl that he was swiftly approaching stasis lock from lack of energon and coolant running through his lines. The tactician noted this absently and tried to perform a quick calculation as to how long he had before everything locked up on him.

There was an audible click as his systems locked up and Jazz glanced over just as the color bled from Prowl's optics an instant before he pitched forward. "Prowl!" Jazz lunged forward to catch the offline tactician before he could fall to the ground and injure himself more. Now that he could take a moment to compute things, Jazz seemed to realize they'd left quite a bright trail of energon and coolant dragging behind them. It wasn't just a few drops either but a steady trickle that had no doubt left Prowl empty and in automatic stasis-lock because of it.

"Oh... slag..." Jazz muttered with a fatalistic look and called Blaster over to watch Prowl while he went to look for Ratchet. He found the medic in a hastily converted section of the bunker frantically working at saving Bluestreak's life. Bits of melted and ruined armor were strewn around the operation table. It spoke of how hurried and desperate the race against time was when Ratchet didn't even have the opportunity to properly dispose of the ruined pieces of the gunner. Blackened and charred circuitry was exposed to the over-bright light from a hastily erected fixture overhead and Ratchet barely even snarled at him when Jazz tried to get his attention.

"Not now, Jazz," Wheeljack left Ratchet's side long enough to try and steer the saboteur out of the area.

"It's Prowl, 'jack." Jazz dug his heels in and refused to budge. "Can ya spare a few clicks to look at him? I think he mighta taken that whole brave an' self-sacrificin' leader thing too far." Despite his light words, Jazz's optic visor was dim and there was a grim set to his faceplates.

Wheeljack glanced back at Ratchet before cycling air through his intakes in a lengthy sigh. "Very well, take me to him." The inventor was hardly a medic but both he and Jazz knew they wouldn't be able to pry Ratchet away from Bluestreak even at gunpoint. Necessity had dictated Wheeljack learn enough medical knowledge to at least act as a medic in the field if need be. The inventor hadn't been happy about it at first but had seen the wisdom in Ratchet and Prime's insistence.

Jazz lead the inventor back towards the entrance where Prowl had all but collapsed once they cleared the second set of blast doors.

"I tried ta seal off that energon leak as best I could, Jazz," Blaster explained quietly when he moved out of the way so Wheeljack could examine the worst of Prowl's wounds.  
"Frag," Wheeljack muttered when he saw the trail of energon they had drug in behind them. "Looks like the primary energon and coolant lines got cut," he muttered as he pulled bits of Prowl's armor away so he could get better access at the wound. "He got caught in the same explosion as Blue?" While Prowl's burns were nowhere near as bad as the gunner's, there was no missing the blackened and melted scorch marks on his armor.

Jazz nodded grimly but didn't say anything more. It was unnerving looking at Prowl's stasis-locked form. Almost like he was already deactivated and incapable of being revived. "Is he going to be okay?" he finally asked quietly and was proud to hear that his vocalizer didn't tremble.

Wheeljack could only grant him a helpless look. "I'm not a medic, Jazz. All I can do is try and stabilize his wounds until Ratchet finishes up with Bluestreak." It pained the inventor to see the normally laid-back and carefree mech so fearful, but he didn't believe in sugar-coating things. "Right now, Prowl's doing a lot better than Bluestreak, I can tell ya that much. I also think that if we can get these lines patched off and some energon and coolant in him that he'll be fine in stasis until Ratchet gets through." Wheeljack didn't know if his words helped at all but it did seem as if some of the tension bled out of Jazz's frame. "Come on, help me get him into the back and on a table."

The three of them picked up Prowl and carried him back towards where Ratchet had set up his impromptu operating theater. He looked up long enough to glare venomously at them for interrupting his concentration. "What the slag happened now!?"

"Prowl's wounds were a bit more serious then he let us believe," Wheeljack explained evenly. "We'll take care of him, you just see to Bluestreak."

Ratchet just grunted and turned his attention back to the mangled gunner. Overhead, there was the distant rumble of bombs falling. They were buried so far beneath the surface that they barely felt the tremors, but the rumbling would go on through the night.

The barrage finally stopped sometime around mid-morning as the engineering and defense teams finally found a way to patch over the damaged shielding at its weak points. The Seekers were pushed back and the all-clear finally came over the communications channels letting the Autobots know it was now safe to peek their heads out of their respective foxholes.

It took Ratchet almost an entire day of non-stop repairs before he was ready to declare Bluestreak stable. The obviously exhausted medic paused long enough to check Prowl over and he grunted wordlessly at Wheeljack's ugly but efficient patch-jobs. "He'll live," the CMO assured Jazz gruffly. "He won't be pretty but he'll be fine. Give his self-repair protocols another fifteen breems and he should be awake."

"Get some rest, doc," Jazz murmured. He could plainly see Ratchet's exhaustion but doubted his words actually got through the medic's hard head.

"Got wounded to see to."

"They're all stable," Wheeljack interrupted. "You need some energon." To demonstrate his point, the inventor held out a cube to his friend.

Ratchet gave him a mulish look. "I've got work to do, 'jack."

"You've been up for almost three straight orns. You need some energon and a good recharge." Wheeljack seemed to be immune to Ratchet's foul glare and a silent test of wills passed between them. "At least take some energon, you overgrown lugnut."

"Hrmph." But Ratchet did accept the energon and drank it sullenly. "Where do you get off ordering _me _around anyway, huh?"

"I suppose vorns of friendship and the fact that I know you best doesn't count, hmm?" Wheeljack just eyed his friend narrowly and when the medic's optics brightened briefly before going dark, he readily moved forward to catch him. The finished energon cube fell limply from Ratchet's fingers.

Jazz's jaw dropped. "Y… you… did you just _drug _him?"

"He'll be fine," Wheeljack snorted. "Just a special blend I keep around to deal with over-zealous, self-sacrificing idiot medics. It'll burn out of his system in a few breems and will see that he gets a decent recharge instead of running himself into the ground. Especially when we have everything under control."

"I ain't _ever _'cepting energon from you ever again, Wheeljack."

The battlemask prevented Jazz from seeing the grin but the bright flicker of Wheeljack's vocal indicators displayed his amusement easily enough. "You should get some recharge too," He reminded Jazz with an arch look. "Don't make me break out the desperate measures for you as well."

Jazz laughed and held up his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, I believe ya!" The saboteur's visor flashed with weak amusement as he settled himself more comfortably in the chair he'd pulled up between Prowl and Bluestreak's temporary berths.

Wheeljack eyed him. "You can't recharge like that, Jazz. You're going to online feeling like day old slag."

"Too late," Jazz smirked mirthlessly and crossed his arms across the edge of Prowl's berth so he could lay his head across his forearms. "I'll be fine, Wheeljack. Jus' gonna recharge fer a bit."

"Suit yourself." Shrugging lightly, Wheeljack adjusted his grip on the limb medic and carried him out of the makeshift repair bay.

Jazz watched the inventor's primarily white frame disappear around a corner and idly wondered if the two of them were sharing a recharge berth yet. It really wasn't any of his business but the idea at least distracted him for a few precious breems. Cycling air through his vents, the saboteur turned his attention back to Prowl but the tactician was still offline and looked to remain that way for a while. Finally, he nestled his chin into the crook of his folded arms and let his tired systems slip into a fitful recharge.


	3. Love of a Fool

_It is best to love wisely, no doubt; but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all. _  
--William Thackeray

He onlined to the soothing caress of someone stroking the sensitive, stubby horns adorning his helm. Jazz smiled and leaned into the soothing fingers much like a tame turbo-fox would nuzzle at its master's hand.

"Finally online, I see," amusement colored Prowl's voice as he smiled faintly down at the curled up saboteur.

"I'm the one who shoul' be sayin' that. You scared the spark outta me," Jazz murmured as he powered up his optic visor and raised his head to look at Prowl. "Don't you ever pull such a foolish stunt like that again, Prowler."

The tactician looked abashed for a moment. "I'm sorry for worrying you, Jazz, but we didn't exactly have time to stop for field repairs"

"I don't care, Prowl. You should have _told_ me." This wasn't his lover speaking, it was the leader of the Special Ops team and third-in-command. "I need to know these things, Prowl. If you were in my position I know you'd have already started to ream me out over such a stupid stunt. What were you thinking?" Despite his harsh words, Jazz kept his voice even and calm, imploring almost. He just couldn't understand why his normally rational lover could do something so patently foolish like risk deactivation from an untreated wound.

"I don't think I was. Thinking that is," Prowl finally admitted. His one good hand stopped petting Jazz's helmet and grabbed his hand instead. "I just… it's all kind of hazy." A troubled expression filled Prowl's face. "I just don't get it, Jazz."

Something akin to pity glittered in the saboteur's optics as he moved to press a gentle kiss on the white panel between Prowl's chevrons. "It's okay, Prowler."

"No, it's not. Why did he do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Bluestreak. He threw himself down on top of me to protect me from the blast. Why the frag did he do that?" It made his CPU just start to glitch trying to puzzle it out.

Jazz froze when Prowl mentioned Bluestreak's heroic, if foolish, act of selflessness. He had a good idea why the gunner had tried to protect his lover but Jazz wasn't sure how exactly to go about explaining that to Prowl. In the end, he decided it was better all around to just be frank and upfront about it all. "Well, I think it prolly has somethin' to do wit' him thinkin' he loves ya."

Prowl went still and even his circulations of air froze for a few tense astroclicks. "Impossible," he finally stated.

"I wouldn't bet on that one, Prowler." His lover sighed and tapped the prone tactician on the tip of his nose playfully. "Ol' Blue has had the hugest case of hero worship I've ever seen. I'm shocked you haven't noticed before now."

"No, that's impossible, Jazz. Surely he's got to realize I'm with you. That I'm _happy_ with you and that there's no chance of me returning those kinds of feelings." Prowl looked decidedly troubled. Yes, he did care for the gunnner a great deal. But his feelings were those of an older brother figure or friend, not... romantic. What the frag was he supposed to do with Bluestreak now?

"A mech ignores the obvious if he doesn't want to acknowledge it. Slag, it took you almost three vorns to realize I was tryin' ta get _your_ attention." Jazz teased weakly.

"That's because I thought you were just being deliberately obnoxious." Prowl squeezed Jazz's fingers despite his cool words. "I'll have dissuade him somehow."

"Oh no you don't. You're just going to break his poor spark."

"Well I can't just keep _stringing_ him along, Jazz! That would be cruel."

"So? What are you going to do? I could always sneak up behind you and molest you in front of him. Blue's a sharp mech, he'd probably get the point." Jazz was only half joking about that. He always loved an excuse to molest his lover, especially if there was a chance of flustering Prowl in the process.

Prowl just glared at him. "That would be cruel, Jazz. Besides, I told you I'm not ready to be so open about our relationship. We're in too visible a position to go flaunting our relationship about without a care in the world."

"I know, I know." Jazz's visor dimmed slightly and he laid one hand against the tactician's cheek tenderly. "And I understand that, even if it is tempting to shut you up in the middle of those cursed staff meetings with more inventive tactics."

"Don't even think about it." But he did tilt his head to lean against Jazz's palm. "But getting back to Bluestreak, I can't just let this situation continue. As soon as we're both cleared for duty I'm going to have a talk with him."

"Just go easy on the kid," Jazz warned solemnly.

"I will. I like him too, you know. Just... not like that."

"I know," Jazz grinned and leaned over to kiss Prowl with a soothing, lingering passion. "I'm not worried about him stealing you away. Besides, I like the kid and I'd really hate to have to hurt him for putting the moves on my mech."

"Hrmph! Your mech indeed." Prowl snorted.

If Prowl thought it was going to be easy letting Bluestreak down, he was soon proven wrong. The gunner had apparently developed a sixth sense when it came to Prowl and the tactician had yet to get the gunner alone. If Prowl didn't know any better, he'd say Bluestreak was avoiding him. But Prowl wasn't the Autobot's tactician for nothing and he had ways of wrangling recalcitrant mechs. After all, Prowl had spent vorns being Jazz's lover and had a trick or two of his own.

That was how Bluestreak found himself assigned to patrol duty all alone with Prowl. It wasn't a common occurrence but had happened a time or two in the past when they were short-staffed enough that even the officers had to pull their share of patrol duties. Unlike the other times, however, this patrol was tense and silent. Prowl was so used to having Bluestreak's seemingly never-ending stream of chatter filling the air that the breems just sort of dragged on. It had to be the most uncomfortable patrol Prowl had covered since his first awkward days in the Autobot ranks.

But if Prowl was uncomfortable, Bluestreak seemed abjectly miserable. When they finally reached the base, Prowl gestured for Bluestreak to follow him. The gunner froze and Prowl looked back at him. "Come with me, please," he ordered quietly.

Bluestreak still didn't budge. A strange expression crossed his face.

"Aren't we friends still, Bluestreak?" It was a low blow but Prowl wasn't against fighting dirty if he was able to accomplish his goal. "Please?"

The gunner's door-wings sagged miserably but he did trudge along behind Prowl looking for all the world like he was going to meet his doom. The young gunner's dread weighed heavily on Prowl's spark but the tactician forced himself to keep going until he reached his quarters. Necessity demanded he and Jazz share separate quarters so he wasn't worried about his lover being under foot at an awkward time.

Bluestreak had been here on multiple occasions and usually the chance to spend one-on-one time with the object of his hero-worship would have had his spark dancing in its chamber and words bubbling nonstop out from his vocalizer. Today, he was eerily quiet and hesitant to even enter Prowl's rooms. They stayed in the office area like normal. Bluestreak had never seen Prowl's inner chambers, it would have been overstepping the bounds of propriety no matter how much the gunner might have longed for it.

"We need to talk, Bluestreak." The black and white mech finally decided the reason Bluestreak was so hesitant was because he feared Prowl was going to chastise him for his actions. Under normal circumstances, Prowl _would_ have given the gunner a piece of his mind for pulling such a foolish stunt. But thanks to Jazz's unsettling revelations, Prowl had heavier things weighing on his processors.

Suddenly, everything that had been festering inside Bluestreak abruptly bubbled up in an incoherent jumble of words. "I'm so sorry! I know I was being stupid and I know you're pissed off at me for doing that but I couldn't help it. It just sorta happened all at once and please don't be mad at me. I don't think I could handle it if you're mad at me and don't want to be my friend anymore but I realize you probably think I'm being foolish and immature and probably--" The self-recriminating stream of words was abruptly cut off as Prowl made a sharp gesture for Bluestreak to be quiet. The poor grey mech visible shrunk and gave Prowl this spark-breaking look. "I'm sorry I—"

"No," Prowl interrupted firmly. "Stop for a click and listen to _me_." The tactician immediately felt guilty for his harsh words when a hurt look filled Bluestreak's faceplates. At a loss, he just floundered for a second before moving to lay his hands atop the gunner's shoulders. "I am not angry with you, nor do I think you foolish or want to stop being your friend."

"Y-You don't?"

"No, I don't. But you need to stop and listen to me now, Bluestreak." He watched as Bluestreak's door-wings flickered and shifted nervously before settling into a dejected lower angle. Prowl kept his hands resting lightly on Bluestreak's shoulders as he continued. "Now, what you did was dangerous and very brave. I'm not going to lie to you and say I was pleased to see you take your life so lightly."

"But Prowl, I-"

"No." To emphasize his words, the tactician squeezed the gunner's shoulder struts fractionally. "It would have hurt me deeply if you'd been permanently damaged, or worse, deactivated." Prowl walked a narrow line when it came to separating his emotional programming from the cold pragmatism of his battle computer. It took a lot of resolve for him to unblinkingly send his loved ones out into battle knowing his plans could very well decide whether or not he saw them again. That doubt was part of the reason he and Jazz had not bonded despite the saboteur's indications that he was willing to deepen their relationship to that level. If one of them were injured or deactivated, the other would be rendered useless or could even die from the backlash, and the Autobots could not afford to lose two-thirds of their command structure in one fell swoop.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Prowl knew he wasn't very good at expressing emotions or feelings and generally tried to avoid emotional tangles as much as possible.

There was a painful look of hope in Bluestreak's optics as he stared up at Prowl. "I…" The normally gregarious gunner just couldn't seem to get much out for once.

"I care about you, Bluestreak. You're a great friend and I don't want to see you hurt."

Alarms started to go off inside Bluetreak's head and he could all but feel his hopeful dreams slipping through his fingers. "What are you saying, Prowl?" He was ashamed to hear the fearful tremor in his voice.

"Jazz told me something when they were operating on you. And I think we need to clear the air between us. "

"Don't, just… don't, please?" The grey mech started to struggle now and tried to shake Prowl's hands off of his shoulders as he pulled away. "I know what you're going to say, just… don't…" It felt like his spark was guttering right within its chamber and Bluestreak found it hard to force air in and out of his vents.

"Bluestreak. You can't love me, not like that. And I can't love you like that. For one thing, I'm already in love with someone else and--"

A pitiful sound came from the gunner and he shoved away from Prowl as his door-wings arched up in a high angle. "Stop it!"

Prowl grimly held on. "No, hear me out, please!"

"What's there to say! Can't you at least leave me with _some_ of my dignity?!" Visibly upset, Bluestreak grappled with Prowl's forearms and tried to pry them away from his shoulders.

Grimacing faintly, Prowl finally decided that an object lesson was required. Abruptly, the tactician yanked Bluestreak forward and kissed him.

Bluestreak made a startled noise and expected to just have his spark trampled on even more by such a cruel gesture. Only to realize… he didn't feel a thing. He'd spent almost half a vorn fantasizing about how it would feel to kiss Prowl and now that it was happening, he didn't feel moved or excited or anything. In all actuality, he felt kind of disturbed, and he jerked back from the contact. There was a grim sort of acknowledgment in Prowl's optics.

"Do you understand now?"

"What?"

"You remember about the glitches, right?" It was Praxus' greatest secret and shame. The First Ones had sought to create the perfect citizen. They had created ten base models that they deemed to be the absolute epitome of Cybertronian perfection, and had standardized their building practices to reflect that perfect dream. There were rumors that the First Ones had been the most favored by the Quintessons and that the First Ones had willingly cooperated with the Quintessons and after the Overlords had been overthrown, they continued to try and perfect the Quintessons' dream.

Unfortunately, in their attempts to create the perfect Cybertronian, the First Ones had only ended up implementing critical flaws in the programming of their second generation. The second generation had tried to fix the flaws in their programming only to introduce new flaws into their next generation. And thus it had gone on for countless vorns. Each generation tried to fix the problems of the previous only for a new glitch to show up. That was the problem with standardized programming. The glitches were universal and Praxus had spent vorns keeping such knowledge under wraps.

"I don't understand. What does that have to do with this?"

Prowl cycled air through his intakes in a weary sigh. Of course Bluestreak wouldn't know, he'd been far too young when Praxus was destroyed. "Well, you know about the generational glitches but have you ever heard about the model glitches as well?"

The gunner just shook his head with a confused look. But at least he wasn't falling to pieces in front of Prowl's optics now. "Errr… no?"

"When the First Ones built Praxus, they created the ten lines. Ten models, each programmed to be masters of a particular trade."

"I know the creation stories, Prowl. What does that have to do with this?"

"Tell me, back in Praxus, did you ever see two of our particular model-type bonded together?"

Bluestreak went quiet as he mulled that over. "One of the First Ones greatest flaws, perhaps the one that started the Glitches, was that in their determination to make the perfect, standardized mech, they programmed the ten lines to be non-compatible within themselves."

"Wait, so you mean because we're the same model type we're incapable of bonding?"

"It does nothing for us. Like trying to kiss your creator. Nothing there." Prowl shrugged helplessly. "There's no spark, not like that at least. Smokescreen and I discovered that one vorns ago." There was a definite note of chagrin in Prowl's voice when he admitted that fact.

"But I love you!"

Prowl nodded slowly. "I understand that, but if you really stop and examine your feelings, can you really picture you and I in a romantic light?"

"But I… I thought…" Puzzled now, Bluestreak just sort of shrunk into himself. He tried to imagine he and Prowl kissing, holding one another and interfacing and just mentally flinched each time he did. The gunner had merely thought if was shyness and uncertainty on his part that kept him from being able to picture Prowl in a sexual manner. Now… he wasn't so certain.

"Why do you want to be with me?"

"Because… you… I… I…" Bluestreak just looked at Prowl imploringly. The tactician had always made him feel content, happy even, and helped to hold back the darkness that always seemed to be nipping at his heels every time he looked over his shoulder.

"There are many kinds of intimacy, Bluestreak. And I think you realize that while I can't be there for you in a romantic way, I can still be here for you when you need me. Do you understand?"

A strangled noise wrenched itself from Bluestreak's vocalizer and Prowl pulled him forward in for a hug. It was a little awkward trying to negotiate hoods and finding a place to rest his hands where they wouldn't brush against the gunner's door-wings, but he eventually found a comfortable position and just held the stricken mech for as long as it took him to calm down.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm acting like a stupid overgrown Sparkling. I don't know what's wrong with me and--"

"Shhh…" Prowl didn't think he'd ever been so relieved to hear Bluestreak start running off at the mouth as he was in that moment. A babbling Bluestreak was a Bluestreak not dancing some razor-sharp edge between panic and abject fear. Still, the young gunner's continual self-recriminations worried Prowl and he made a mental note to talk to Smokescreen about it. "I don't think you're stupid or an overgrown Sparkling either. You need to stop telling yourself things like that, Bluestreak."

"I'll try, I'm sorry, Prowl."

"And stop apologizing all the time." There was a hint of laughter in the older mech's voice.

"Sorry… Oh!" Understandably flustered, Bluestreak pulled away with a wry smile. "Sorry, it's a habit."

"I noticed," Prowl agreed drolly.

"Heh." The grey mech's optics had brightened and looked less troubled as he slowly extracted himself from Prowl's arms. "Do you… umn… do you mind if I just hang around for a while? I mean, if you have something to do then I'll leave. Actually that's kind of silly, of course you have something to do, you've probably got a dozen reports and stuff you need to fill out so I should probably get out of here and let you get back to work and I--"

"Bluestreak," the tactician interrupted gently. "Stay. I don't mind. I'll be glad for the company."

"Oh."

Prowl remembered the brilliant shimmer and glow of sunrise shining through the crystal gardens in Praxus. But as he watched the relieved and oh-so-hopeful smile break out over the younger mech's faceplates, the tactician secretly decided that sight was just as beautiful as home. It was in that moment that Prowl realized something. He needed Bluestreak just as much as the troubled young mech needed him. Because the gunner was like a piece of home, a bright, shining reminder of how things had once been. And Prowl needed that reminder and the hope it brought more then he'd ever thought possible.

Jazz fulfilled him in ways beyond Prowl's wildest expectations. He made him happier then he'd ever been in his life, but it was Bluestreak who brought a wistful sort of optimism to Prowl's weary spark. Because while Bluestreak reminded the tactician of the past, he also held within him a glimpse of what might become the future. One where war had not torn the last shreds of innocence from their tired and battered faction. And it was that very innocence that soothed Prowl in some instinctual way.

No wonder Jazz had never objected to his friendship with the grey mech. Or why he hadn't even seemed to care that the gunner harbored a huge crush on his lover. Jazz had seen how good Bluestreak could be for his lover and hadn't interfered. "That slagger…" Prowl muttered to himself.

"Huh? What?"

"Not you, Bluestreak. Jazz. I don't know how he does it but he always seems to know the situation before I do."

"Oh yeah, well, he _is_ Special Ops."

"True. Still, sometimes even I can get tired of that knowing smirk of his."

Bluestreak just chuckled weakly and patted Prowl on the shoulder. "Err… you're not going to… um… tell him about this, right?"

"Oh, he probably knows already. Spy cams, you see," Prowl managed with a deadpan expression.

A look of horror flashed across Bluestreak's face as he look around hesitantly. "What!?"

Prowl almost laughed himself silly. "I'm sorry, Bluestreak, but the look on your face was _priceless_!" the tactician apologized with something suspiciously close to a giggle. Bluestreak looked as though he couldn't decide if he was supposed to be offended or not.

Eventually he settled for wryly amused and joined Prowl in a soft chuckle.


	4. Love of the Spark

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage._  
--Lao Tzu

* * *

Cycles later, long after a much-relieved Bluestreak had left Prowl's quarters, Jazz slunk in, staring at his lover frowning at the datapad he was reading over. "Shut the door behind you," Prowl murmured without looking up.

Jazz smirked as he shut and locked the door. "So, did things go well between you an' Bluestreak? Did ya break his poor little spark?" The saboteur was only half joking and he settled himself down on Prowl's desk next to the tactician. Despite his teasing words, there was a note of protectiveness in Jazz's voice. It was hard not to feel protective of Bluestreak. The timid gunner seemed to evoke those kinds of instincts in everyone. Even the Twins had been known to gruffly look out after his aft on more than one occasion.

"I tried not to. But I lack your grace with words, I'm afraid." Prowl set the datapad aside and swiveled in his chair slightly to face Jazz. There was a somber expression in his optics that made Jazz's spark ache just a bit.

Fighting to find a way to erase the shadows from Prowl's optics, Jazz smiled impishly. "That's okay. Though I can't believe you told him I was the jealous type."

There was a stunned silence before Prowl's optics narrowed dangerously. "You really I _did _ bug my office, didn't you!?" Jazz almost got a hit in the head with an errant chevron as Prowl jerked up abruptly. "Did you?"

Jazz laughed and smirked at the annoyed looking tactician. "No, but the look on your face was priceless." The sabotuer's grin was infectious. "That, and I know you and how your twisted little mind works."

"Hrmph." But some of the self-recrimination had left Prowl's optics and he cycled air raggedly through his vents. "Thanks," he finally admitted with a weak smile. "I needed that, I swear I feel all wrung out emotionally. See, this is why emotional protocols are a liability in a military tactician." Prowl tried to make it a joke but the self-deprecating humor fell flat.

"Aw, Prowler." Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl's shoulders and pulled him forward until the tactician laid his head atop his thigh. The saboteur had enough experience reading Prowl's body language to know when something was genuinely upsetting his lover. And right now, Prowl's door-wings all but shivered with repressed emotion so Jazz gently soothed the metal plate protecting the joints.

Like a wire uncoiling, the tension slowly began to drain from Prowl and he wrapped his arms around Jazz's waist as he lay there with his cheek pressed against the cool metal of his lover's thigh. "I tried not to hurt him but I still did."

"You had ta s'pect a certain amount o' pain, Prowl. It's never easy when ya get tol' ya can't have something ya want. But considerin' I saw Bluestreak down in the lounge talking to the Twins I'm assumin' ya managed ta let 'im down gently enough?"

Prowl just grimaced and tightened his hold on Jazz's waist. The visored mech ended up half-bent over Prowl as he cradled the tactician in his arms. It was a surprisingly vulnerable position and Jazz treasured the realization that this was a side of Prowl only he was allowed to see. "Ya amaze me, Prowler. And jus' when I think you can't surprise me more, ya turn around and do somethin' that just makes me love you even more."

With those tenderly whispered words, the last vestiges of tension bled out of Prowl. "Do you mind if I just lay here for a while?" he asked in a pitiful tone of voice.

"Naw, take as much time as ya need, Prowler. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stroked a gentle hand across the top of Prowl's helm and smiled softly. "You jus' rest, I'll be here when you online." To reinforce his suggestion, Jazz continued to alternate between caressing the smooth line of Prowl's helm and the sensitive metal between his doorwings. Slowly, Prowl's air circulation evened out and his optics dimmed before finally going offline. Once Jazz was certain his lover was in recharge, he looked around and calculated how long it would take him to remove all the spy cameras he'd set up in Prowl's office. The tactician could be as paranoid and thorough as Red Alert when he chose to be.

Jazz didn't feel particularly guilty for lying to his lover. He knew that Prowl would understand that were certain aspects of Jazz's job that went even above his head. Just as Jazz understood that his lover did not fully share everything with him. And Prowl did not need to know that between Jazz and Red Alert, they had 99 of the base wired and monitored, including the crew quarters. Of course, the neurotic security chief knew better then to watch the footage that took place in either Jazz's or Prowl's quarters unless the saboteur brought something to his attention.

In return, Jazz didn't go snooping in either Red Alert or Inferno's quarters. Or the storage closet on sub-level 3. All in all, it was an equitable trade.

He'd seen the confrontation that took place between Prowl and Bluestreak, had even seen his lover pull the younger mech in for a hasty kiss. Jazz had thought he would have felt jealous or even outraged, but as he reviewed the footage, the saboteur had been surprised to realize it hadn't bothered him.

That _had _bothered him for a moment. But then he'd stopped and thought about it. Even if they didn't have the extra insight a bond would bring, Jazz still knew Prowl and how Prowl's processors worked. The tactician had no doubt decided a swift object lesson was less painful then a long, drawn-out explanation. And from the looks of things, it had worked too.

"Jealous type, huh?" Jazz muttered with fond affection. He stroked dark fingers down Prowl's helmet one last time. "I'll have to get you for that one later, Prowler."

The tactician was deep in recharge and didn't even stir. Jazz knew how tired his lover had been lately. Even after recovering from his injuries, the second in command hadn't been able to properly recharge. His guilt and uncertainty in dealing with Bluestreak had weighed heavily on his processors.

Jazz just shook his head and smiled softly as Prowl's door-wings twitched reflexively even when he was in recharge. For half an astro-click, Jazz was tempted to play with those graceful appendages but he resisted the urge and settled for wrapping his arms more securely around Prowl.

The low, steady purr of his lover's engine was enough to lull Jazz into his own light recharge and the saboteur's optic visor slowly dimmed as he too followed Prowl into a resting state.


End file.
